


it's electric

by vicious_seagull



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic!Stiles, Possession, i'm bad at tags sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicious_seagull/pseuds/vicious_seagull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I told you, you have a spark. What did you think I meant?” Deaton was filling out paperwork, unperturbed. Like he handled this shit every day, which-well, he probably did.</p><p>“Yeah, but, I didn’t know you meant literally, like, sparks that light things on fire. It was more of a, a metaphorical spark, you know? Like a ‘creative genius’ kind of spark.” Scott laughed at the word genius because he was a terrible friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time he does it on purpose it’s not very impressive. After hours of sitting still and ‘just feeling’ (thanks a lot Deaton), it’s just a flicker of light, quick as a fish, that jumps out of his palm and into his phone. The phone lets out a sad cheep and goes dark. Stiles barely has time to think ‘fuck, not again,’ before darkness rushes up and pulls him under.

\--

When he did it on accident it was a hell of a lot more impressive. He’d been out by the lake on the preserve, futilely trying to throw rocks farther out than Scott could. It was a beautiful day and Stiles was so happy just to have Scott to himself it hardly mattered that he couldn’t even see where some of Scott’s rocks landed, they flew so far out.

Scott had spun around laughing at Stiles when something had flung itself out of the water, screeching and flailing too many spidery gray legs, like Shelob from the deep. Scott was right at the edge of the lake He didn’t even have time to turn around before it was latching onto his knees.

“Stiles, _run_.” The thing was drawing blood and Stiles could see nasty black teeth in a gap between its legs. Panic fizzed up, hot and staticky. Scott couldn’t seem to get any leverage to kick or hit it and the thing managed to knock him over with a vicious bite.

“ _Stiles_!” And it still wasn’t even a cry for help, like Scott wasn’t flat on his back with a disgusting, slimy lake monster climbing up his chest. Stiles saw his own hands drift up in front of him, shaking hard, like the panic had spread down from his head. There was a flash of burning white light, and a clean sharp feeling, like the smell of snow, and the thing was screaming again, but in pain. It rolled off Scott, curling around red blisters all over its body.

“What the-” somebody said and there was a strange sensation, like wet fingers dragging across the back of his neck, before the ground swam up to meet Stiles as he fell.

\--

Of course Deaton didn’t say anything useful. Not that Stiles and Scott could even really tell him what happened. One second Stiles had been in the middle of a panic attack and the next BAM the thing was crawling away and Stiles was unconscious. The little star-shaped burns on each of his fingertips only made everything more confusing.

“I told you, you have a spark. What did you think I meant?” Deaton was filling out paperwork, unperturbed. Like he handled this shit every day, which-well, he probably did.

“Yeah, but, I didn’t know you meant _literally_ , like, sparks that light things on fire. It was more of a, a metaphorical spark, you know? Like a ‘creative genius’ kind of spark.” Scott laughed at the word genius because he was a terrible friend.

“You didn’t actually light anything on fire did you? The forest has been unusually dry this season, a forest fire would be extremely dangerous.” Deaton looked up for the first time and gave Stiles the eyebrow.

“What? No! No way!” The eyebrow went higher. “Well, I have no idea, I kind of passed out? And woke up in my car so...” Scott looked nonplussed but that was sort of his resting face so Stiles couldn’t really tell one way or the other if he had potentially started a raging, Bambi’s mom-killing wildfire.

“I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if the forest had burned down though.” Stiles had smiled his best, most-innocent-looking smile, which as usual, got him nowhere.

“You need to be able to control it. It’s amazing you haven’t hurt anybody yet.” Deaton was back to going through paperwork.

“Thanks Yoda, what does that even mean? There better not be any handstands involved because-”

“Just focus on it. Listen to it. Try meditation, it can’t hurt,” Deaton said, sounding like every teacher Stiles had ever had.

\--

Stiles wakes up early the next morning. He gets up out of bed, gets dressed, brushes his teeth, is walking down the stairs, before he realizes it’s Saturday. He keeps walking down the stairs, into the kitchen, and starts making himself a bowl of cereal.

“This is weird,” he says, or he doesn’t say, because the words never come out, they just echo around inside his head. His hands carry on shaking out the cereal, which isn’t even the kind he likes, it’s the high-fiber stuff his dad is supposed to eat. He’s sitting down at the table, also weird because since when does he bother sitting down for breakfast?

He tries to put the spoon down but he gets a mouthful of soggy cardboard-flavored cereal instead. He pushes with his legs, to knock the chair back, tries to move his head away from the next spoonful, tries to close his mouth, tries to do anything but it’s like he’s in a dream that’s going on without him. Like something else is controlling his body.

_I wondered when you’d puzzle it out._

Stiles would have jumped, knocked something over, if he could do anything. But he couldn’t so he just talks to himself. In his own head.

“What? What is this? What’s going on?”

_Ah, not as clever as I’d hoped then._

It’s like a voice but it isn’t. It feels like seaweed sliding over wet rocks, like long hair drifting through still water.

_Maybe you are clever. You’re close._

“What are you?”

_Mmm that’s the question, isn’t it? I am many things._

“What are you called then?”

_Names have power, little boy, and I have many names._

It’s worse than talking to Deaton.

_Ah, the oracle, yes. He would know what I am. Best we don’t tell him then, hmm?_

The not-voice turns sharp and Stiles’s jaw snaps shut, catching his lip. He winces.

_Better be good, little boy. You’re mine now._

 

tbc

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first day is endless.

His dad is gone and the house is completely silent. Usually Stiles puts on music and talks to himself and clatters around the house like a spaz. But now he’s quiet. He even stacks his bowl neatly in the dishwasher instead of dumping it in the sink. And he doesn’t swing around the end of the bannister when he goes down the stairs, or tap along the walls as he passes.

It’s claustrophobic and horrifying. He feels his skin crawl with the alien-ness of it. The thing isn’t even talking to him anymore and somehow it’s worse when his body mutely follows directions he can’t hear.

He spends hours flicking through his things, looking at his notes on the bestiary, his posters, some old action figures he’d forgotten about. There isn’t even a prickle of interest when it comes across his porn stash, though maybe sex doesn’t really do it for whatever kind of thing can possess somebody.

He eventually stops looking around and lies down on the bed. And just lies there. For hours. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy, not even Jackson. Maybe Peter, but then, Peter’s been through this before.

There’s nothing but his thoughts circling over and over, questions he can’t answer, hopeless solutions for problems he can’t solve, and all the embarrassing, stupid, inappropriate, dumb things he’s ever done, played on repeat in his brain. He can’t get away from it, can’t tell how long it’s been, can’t even have a panic attack, apparently.

The door slams downstairs.

“Stiles!”

“Yeah?” It’s painful, using vocal cords that have been silent all day.

“I’m going out with some of the boys. I brought you a pizza.” He pauses, and Stiles imagines him standing in the living room, holding the pizza box like an apology.

“You okay up there?”

“Yup! Be safe, call me if you need a ride.” Which Stiles would never say, would never even think to say and he burns with guilt. Even a body-snatcher is a better son than him.

“Alright. Don’t stay up too late.” There are the quiet sounds of the front door being opened and gently shut and then the house is silent again.

\--

The thing in his head slips away sometimes, and Stiles can’t feel it in his thoughts. He doesn’t want to take any chances though, won’t risk thinking about anything that could get somebody hurt. He tries not to think about werewolves or Scott or his dad or Lydia or even the Argents because he doesn’t know what it wants, what it could make him do.

He’s never had to control his mind before. It’s his last free space. Even if he’s told to sit on his hands, his brain can jump around in every direction and nobody knows. Except now. Now this thing will come sliding back into his thoughts, tingling with interest and Stiles has nowhere to hide.

\--

He decides to call it Strange, as in Professor Strange, the creepy old-school Batman villain who turned people into mindless puppets. It’s easier than thinking of it as ‘it’ all the time.

Scott comes over after Strange has fed him again, a ham and cheese sandwich, possibly the most boring lunch of all time.

They flop around on the floor of Stiles’s room, doing homework. Stiles is writing an essay on Macbeth by hand in a notebook he’s never used before. His computer sits cold on the desk and there’s something weird about his handwriting. Scott doesn’t notice anything wrong and they spend a few lazy hours in relative quiet before his phone buzzes.

“It’s Allison.” Scott is obviously trying to look apologetic but not fooling anybody.

“Oh? How is she?” It’s not even sarcastic. It comes out sounding totally sincere. Scott, wonderfully perceptive friend that he is, takes it as a cue.

“This has all been really hard on her, you know? Like, her aunt _died_ , and we still don’t know what happened to Gerard. I mean, they were crazy psychopaths but still. It sucks. And then with me being a werewolf and everything with Derek, she doesn’t know if she can be with me and I think we have trust issues? I don’t know dude, I just really miss her.” He sighs and lets his head droop down like a sad dog.

_Werewolf._

“Wow, yeah, that’s a lot to deal with.” The sincerity is starting to sound creepy, but worse than that is the sudden uncoiling feeling in his head. Like Strange is interested and listening.

“Yeah, I just don’t really know what to do. I guess I could talk to Isaac about it.” In his head, Stiles reels back, because—what. His best friend is going to somebody else for advice and he _literally_ can’t do anything about it. Strange is interested in that too.

“Well you could always talk to me.” The smile he feels on his face has to look weird, it has to. Strange is practically buzzing now.

Scott laughs. It’s insulting how much he laughs. He stops eventually.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend though. The closest you’ve ever come is Lydia and that’s hardly a model relationship, unless the relationship is, like, stalker, or hopeless pining.” Scott is an asshole.

“Who did Isaac date?” Finally, a normal thing that Stiles would actually say.

“Lynn Wu, do you know her? She went to St. Mary’s. Moved to South Carolina, apparently.” Scott looks oddly pleased with that piece of information. “Anyway, I have to go. Allison finally agreed to get fro-yo with me. So…” The not-apologetic face is back.

“Okay, cool, I’ll see you later then.” Half of Stiles is pissed at Scott for the betrayal of their best-friend-hood and wants him to leave. The other half is terrified to be alone with Strange again, the sounds of his dad in the office close but unreachable. He waves stupidly as Scott jumps up from the couch and all but runs to the door, like he’s been waiting for Stiles’s permission. The front door slams and Stiles stays sitting on the couch, staring at the menu screen still looping on the TV.

_\--_

Strange is silent for a long time.

_Werewolves._

“What? What do you mean werewolves? What are you talking about?”

_You can’t lie to me_.

Which is the creepiest fucking thing ever.

_Your friend is a werewolf. You know that. Interesting that he hasn’t killed you yet._

“Whoa, dude. Scott would never hurt me. Crazy werewolf or not. We’re bffs.” Allegedly. If you can still count as bffs when one of you can’t tell when the other one is freaking possessed.

_Omegas are notoriously unstable. Weak, though. They tire easily._

“Um, wow, I really don’t want to know how you know that.”

_Werewolves are too curious for their own good. Useful, on occasion._

Strange is getting bored, drifting away.

“Wait, how did you know he was an omega without him shifting or anything?”

_Anything touched by magic has an aura. That’s how I found you. Among werewolves, omegas have the weakest auras. The least magic…helpless._

And he’s gone.

\--

His dad leaves a grocery list on the kitchen counter the next morning.

For a moment, Stiles is ecstatic. _Finally_ leaving the house, thank fucking god. And then he realizes that Strange will be driving. Driving his baby, the love of his life. Stiles prepares himself for the worst.

It turns out not to be a problem. Strange drives like Miss Daisy is watching. It slows down for yellow lights. It brakes for pedestrians. It puts on the turn signal in turn-only lanes. It’s probably a better driver than Stiles.

It’s also smart. There aren’t a lot of shoppers early on Tuesday morning. Nobody notices Stiles slowly, painstakingly reading the labels of every single thing he puts in his cart. Stiles has no idea what Strange is looking for but literally nothing goes in the cart before it’s been stared at for five minutes.

He’s in the supplements aisle, looking at algae tablets, of all things, when he shivers hard with his whole body. Strange pulses through his mind, pressing up behind his eyes, pushing him down to the end of the aisle--

“Stiles?” Derek has a shopping basket at his feet and is holding a can of bread crumbs.

“Hey.” Stiles can _feel_ himself leaning towards Derek, eyes wide, mouth open. It’s both creepy and mortifying.

“Are you- ” Derek looks back at the cart that Stiles somehow dragged behind him without noticing. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“Yes! Everything is good. Very okay yes.” It’s embarrassing that Strange’s half-assed attempts at normalcy actually sound like Stiles. “Just grocery shopping. For food. To eat.” Derek looks annoyed but not surprised. Strange strains forward, frantic, like it can jump right through Stiles’s eyeballs into Derek.

Oh shit.

“You should come to training today. Isaac told me about your talk with Deaton.” Stiles wants to shout, shove Derek away, anything to get him to stop talking, to get him as far away as possible.

“Oh, um.” Strange is barely paying attention to Stiles anymore. It twists into cold knot of energy, winding up like a catapult . His whole body feels itchy and horrible, almost like a panic attack, a hot buzz rising through his bones.

“It’d be good for you to practice with us.” Derek lifts a hand, almost in slow motion. Stiles can see the strangeness of his eyes, wonders if that’s a werewolf thing, can feel Strange humming to itself, eager and restless, and feels a moment of fierce grief, that Derek seems doomed to really shitty luck. A burning spark of pain rips through Stiles the moment Derek’s hand lands on his shoulder. Derek jumps back, startled. Strange hisses and shrinks back on itself.

“What the hell?” Derek looks confused and Stiles has no idea what just happened. Strange is angry, like a dull roar in the back of his mind. Its grip on Stiles’s mind tightens viciously.

“I have to go. Bye.” Stiles spins around and all but runs out the door. Strange is definitely pissed. At least three of the things he ran into on his way to the car were intentional.

It’s not until he’s almost home that he realizes he never bought the groceries.

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd, sorry. i'm looking for a beta, if anybody is up for it.
> 
> i'm on tumblr at godofsundays


End file.
